


Friendsgiving

by PixelByPixel



Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon-atypical happiness, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Thanksgiving, cameo: karen page, frank still has his angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: This wasn't exactly how Matt expected Foggy to react to the news that he and Frank were together.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl
Series: Holidays in Hell's Kitchen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532732
Comments: 30
Kudos: 203
Collections: Daredevil Bingo





	Friendsgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for wonderful beta-skills and for listening to me moan about why did I choose HOLIDAYS. ;) 
> 
> This also fills my [Daredevil Bingo](https://pixelbypixelfanfic.tumblr.com/bingo) square for "I never slept better"
> 
> While this fic is part of a series, I think it mostly stands on its own.

Foggy Nelson stopped what he was doing, which was, admittedly, looking at his Google search results for “best Thanksgiving stuffing,” and _listened_. He waved a hand to get Karen’s attention and then gestured toward their partner’s office, mouthing, “Is he whistling?”

Karen listened as well and then nodded, her eyebrows lifting.

It wasn’t even the first time something like this had happened. Last week, Matt had hummed. The other day, Foggy had caught him in an honest-to-God _skip_ as he went down the stairs.

Foggy had to face facts, as odd as they were: Matthew Murdock was, dare he say it, happy.

By unspoken, mutual consent, he and Karen got to their feet and moved to linger in Matt’s doorway. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?”

Matt smiled. That had been happening more often, too. Not that he never smiled, of course, but lately his smiles had been wider. Happier. Foggy hadn’t seen Matt smile like that since Columbia, since…

Fuck.

“Not much,” Matt replied, as Foggy’s mind reeled. “Finishing up some briefs.”

“They must be good briefs,” Karen observed. She didn’t have the experience to make the connection Foggy had; when Matt looked puzzled she whistled an approximation of his melody.

“Oh, sorry,” Matt said, looking a little sheepish. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

He had not, Foggy noted, said he would stop. He also hadn’t given any hint to the reason for the whistling. Karen tipped her head at him, mouthing, “You try,” and slipped out of the office. Maybe she thought Matt would talk if it was just him and Foggy.

Sure, because that was what he and Matt did all the time: talked about feelings and relationships. So Foggy cut to the chase. “She’s not back, is she?”

Matt’s puzzled expression seemed genuine enough, but he’d pulled the wool over Foggy’s eyes before. It hurt Foggy a little that he was suspicious, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have reason to be.

“Who?”

 _Don’t say zombie ex,_ Foggy urged himself. “You were whistling.”

Matt did not look enlightened. “Yeah? I do that.”

“No, you don’t. You sigh, and sometimes you mutter to yourself, and _sometimes_ the muttering is in Latin and I really hope it’s legal stuff and not church stuff, because _seriously_. But whistling? Humming? _Skipping_? No.”

“When did I skip?”

“Two days ago, when you were off to that lunch meeting. Who was that with, by the way? You got back pretty late.”

Matt… holy shit, was he blushing? “Uh, not a client.”

“Look, Matty, you can tell me,” Foggy urged. “I mean, it would be a little weird and it hasn’t always gone well in the past, but you really seem happy. Is she back?”

Matt’s expression shifted from ruefulness to puzzlement to utter confusion. “Who are you talking about?”

Foggy lowered his voice. “Elektra.”

Matt’s face went blank. “Elektra’s dead.”

“Well, yeah, but that didn’t stop her before, right?”

“No, she’s really dead this time.” Foggy was watching, though, and he caught that flicker of uncertainty that crossed Matt’s face.

He thought it would probably be unwise to ask if there was a body, because, really, there had been a body before. But if it wasn’t Elektra… “Who is it, then? Did you meet somebody? Was it that barista? She’s really cute, by the way.” Foggy couldn’t help but grin. If Matt was this happy and Elektra wasn’t involved, well, that was great.

Matt said something that Foggy couldn’t quite catch.

“Say again?”

A little more clearly, Matt repeated, “Frank Castle.”

Foggy felt like his stomach had dropped to his toes. “Frank Castle?”

“Yeah.”

“Frank _Castle_?”

“Yeah.”

“The Punisher?”

“Yes.” Matt’s reply had become a bit clipped, but Foggy couldn’t help his response.

“You’re dating the _Punisher_?”

Foggy’s voice had perhaps gotten a bit loud - but not shrill, definitely not - and Karen came back into Matt’s office.

“You and Frank are together?”

Foggy winced. He knew Karen had had a thing for Frank; what was it with his partners and their catastrophic taste in men? Though Karen had also had a thing for Matt, so who even knew?

“Uh, yes. Sorry, Karen. I know you -”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad for you both.” She actually sounded reasonably close to glad, but Foggy saw the way Matt’s head tipped a little in her direction and assumed that a Talk would happen later. “I’m going to get back to work on that file, but you should have Frank stop by sometime.”

“Uh, sure. Sounds good.”

Matt’s tone suggested that Frank stopping by was the last thing on his mind.

Foggy wasn’t about to object. Once Karen had left, Foggy asked, his voice lowered, “The _Punisher_? Really, Matt? I know you’ve dated non-murdery people. Why couldn’t you find one of them?”

Matt’s jaw tightened in a way that Foggy knew from past arguments. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“No,” Foggy agreed. “You don’t.” He looked at Matt, then, and saw how his earlier good mood had vanished. “Look… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t give you shit for something that makes you this happy. But do you get why I’m… concerned?” Terrified, that was the word Foggy didn’t use. He remembered how out-of-control things had gotten with Elektra back when they’d been at Columbia, and then she’d all but gotten Matt killed at Midland Circle. And Frank Castle was way more murdery, or at least more blatant about being murdery, so Foggy anticipated a commensurate level of chaos.

“I do. But Frank, he’s…”

And Matt smiled a ridiculous, dopey smile, and Foggy sighed. Shit.

“He makes you happy?”

“Yeah, Fogs.” Matt turned his head in Foggy’s direction and added, “Look, it’s not like at Columbia, with Elektra. I haven’t missed work, haven’t even been late except that one time.” His smile shifted to something reflective and Foggy decided he absolutely wasn’t going to ask what had made Matt late that one time.

“Okay, that’s true. But how long have you two been…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his mind whiting out a little at the thought of what words he could use to describe his best friend and the freaking _Punisher_.

“Uh, beginning of October.”

“But what about Maggie?”

Matt gave him a look of befuddlement. “Maggie?”

“You’ve mentioned her a few times, and Karen gave you that _look_ that one time, and then there was that text she sent about not seeing you lately, so I assumed…” Matt’s confusion had, as Foggy spoke, shaded from puzzlement to something approaching horror. “What?”

“Foggy.” Matt leaned back against his chair, making an odd choking sound.

“ _What_? Shit, are you okay?”

He was laughing. The son of a bitch was laughing!

“Maggie,” he gasped, “is my mother. Not my -” He did something that could only be described as a full-body shudder and added, with feeling, “ _Ew_.”

Foggy stared at Matt, not that he could see. “Your mom? Matty, that’s amazing! How did you find her? Why didn’t she - you know, stay?”

“She’s a nun,” Matt replied, as if that answered everything, and in a way it did.

A nun. Foggy vowed never again to even think of Matt as a son of a bitch, and offered a vague, God-wards mental apology. “Holy shit! This is huge! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Matt grimaced. “It all happened, uh, back then.” They didn’t really talk about that time. It was easier that way. “And then… I don’t know. I guess I forgot you didn’t already know. I’m sorry.”

Foggy nodded but didn’t say it was okay. He was going to have to take that in. He didn’t really want to talk about that little feeling in the back of his mind that maybe there would come a time when an apology from Matt wouldn’t be enough. This wasn’t that day, at least. Sure, it hurt a little, but Matt wasn’t exactly known for being open and honest.

Matt seemed to get the idea, though. He looked uncomfortable. “So, yeah. Frank…”

Foggy jumped at the change of subject. His voice teasing to cover the truth of his words, he said, “What? You two have been… whatever you are all this time, and this is the first time I’m hearing about it? Matty, I’m hurt.”

Matt’s eyebrows lifted. Maybe he caught that Foggy wasn’t entirely joking. “Yeah, because you’re being completely reasonable about it.” He shifted a bit in his chair and asked, “Is it because Frank’s a guy?”

“What? No! Of course not. You should know me better than that. I was freaking out when I thought it was Elektra.” Foggy in fact decided not to mention certain ideas regarding him and Matt that had occurred to him at Columbia, as that ship had clearly sailed.

“Okay, sorry. Got it. Gender doesn’t matter, just the violent tendencies.”

“Yeah, well, you clearly have a type,” Foggy quipped.

“Ha, apparently.” Matt wasn’t laughing, though. Foggy _would not ask_.

Impulsively, he said, “Bring him to Thanksgiving.”

“What?”

“Thanksgiving. It’s a holiday, the fourth Thursday in November, where we indulge in gluttony and some of us try not to feel bad about all the shit we did to the Native Americans, traditionally celebrated with -”

Matt, laughing, waved him to silence. “I know what Thanksgiving is.”

“You just looked confused,” Foggy said, all innocence. He ducked back, laughing, when Matt faked a punch at him that was obviously intended to miss.

“You really want Frank to come to dinner?”

 _No,_ thought Foggy. _That’s just about the last thing I want. But it would make Matt happy, so…_ “Sure. It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other without, you know, litigation being involved.”

“And Marci won’t mind?”

 _Fuck._ “Marci, well, I’ll talk to Marci.” He paused a beat. “Uh, what should I tell her?” That his best friend, Daredevil, was dating the Punisher? He thought she should know who they were inviting into their home, but then murder probably wasn’t going to come up at Thanksgiving. Hopefully. But now he really wanted to be sure the stuffing was perfect.

Matt hesitated. “Let me run that by Frank. I don’t want to just, you know, without getting his input. But if he says yes, you can tell Marci and get back to me, okay?”

“Marci’s not the boss of me.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Okay, yeah, she is. Just let me know what F-frank says.”

He was pretty sure Matt caught how he tripped over Frank’s name, but Matt smiled, and the expression was so sweet that it broke Foggy’s heart that he hadn’t seen it more often. “Thanks, Foggy.”

“Any time, buddy.”

* * *

Red stopped by Frank’s place after work, which was not necessarily suspicious. It was unusual, though, so Frank took note, watching as Red came through the door and loosened his tie, which was normal, then set his cane aside. Also normal.

It wasn’t that Frank wasn’t glad to see Red; of course, he was. But he knew that there had to be a reason for a visit like this, especially when they’d planned to meet up at Red’s place later.

So he asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. I, uh, told Foggy about us today. And Karen.”

Frank had decided to leave that to Red, and he’d wondered when he would get around to it. “And? What did they think? Nelson lose his shit?” Frank managed not to smile, though he was a little regretful that he hadn’t gotten to see the look on Nelson’s face.

“Karen’s fine; we talked later, and she said she’s happy for us. As for Foggy… only a little. But then he invited us to Thanksgiving. Not a big thing with his family,” he added quickly, probably seeing that Frank was absolutely not going to have dinner with Ma and Pa Nelson. “They started a thing this year, him and Marci. His family gets Christmas and her family gets Easter, but Thanksgiving is for friends.”

“Marci,” Frank said as he mulled over the idea.

“Yeah. Foggy’s girlfriend. Also a lawyer.”

“Does she know that you’re Daredevil?”

“Not as far as I know. Foggy wanted to know what we should tell her. You could be Pete Castiglione if you wanted.”

“You’re assuming I want to have dinner with three lawyers, and that’s not even talking about anybody else that might be there.” Frank was teasing Red a little; Red grinned, clearly picking up on that.

“Karen can’t make it. Some aunt got in touch and guilted her into coming to her place in Massachusetts. And I don’t think Foggy and Marci are asking anybody else. They like to keep it small since the Nelson Family Christmas is… well, it’s a lot.”

Frank leaned back in his chair and looked at Red. “So me and three lawyers. How long have they been together?”

“Not long this time, but they dated when we were at Columbia.”

“So she’s probably followed his cases.”

Frank saw the understanding in Red’s face. “She’d recognize you, you think?”

“Maybe. I mean, even if she wasn’t following it just for Nelson, my face was in a lot of newspapers and stuff, and there’s not really time to grow a beard.” And Frank liked being clean-shaven and keeping his hair high and tight. After all that time in the Marines, it felt right.

Red nodded. “We don’t have to go.”

His voice was sincere; he wasn’t going to try and push Frank into it, which Frank appreciated. But Frank could also tell that he would like to go, and that he’d like to go with Frank, which was… okay, that was new. It was a couple thing, and they hadn’t done a lot of - okay, any - couple things.

“This Marci, what would she do if Frank Castle came to her house?”

“What, would she call the cops? Scream? No. And we wouldn’t just spring it on her. I think she’d be okay with it if Foggy gave her a heads-up.”

“Would she spread it around? Telling one more person isn’t a huge deal, but if she told more people…”

“She’d keep it to herself if Foggy asked.”

Frank turned that over in his head. “Okay. But would that make her wonder how Matt Murdock, mild-mannered lawyer -” Red scoffed, and Frank grinned. “- ended up with the big, bad Punisher?”

Red considered it, then shrugged. “I’m sure we could come up with something. But if you don’t want to go…”

Frank didn’t _want_ to go, but he hadn’t wanted to go to Mass with Red, either, and that had worked out okay. And he didn’t _not_ want to go. Plus, going would make Red happy, which by extension would simplify Frank’s life. It wasn’t that Red pouted when he didn’t get his way; he got mopey, which was an unsettling combination of cute and annoying. “Do you trust her?”

Red took a moment to think over his answer, which Frank appreciated. “Yeah,” he said finally. “She’s a good person.”

Frank nodded. “Okay, then. Have Nelson let her know what she’s in for, see if she’s okay with it.” He was… nervous? Kind of? It wasn’t like he didn’t already know Nelson, and whoever this Marci was, he could probably handle her. For reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he wanted it to go well.

Red looked pleased, but in a restrained sort of way, like he didn’t want Frank to know how much it mattered to him. “Thanks.”

“Me and three lawyers.” Frank shook his head. “There’ll be booze, right?”

“Absolutely.” Red moved closer in a way that Frank found promising. “I’m sure Foggy will have it, but we’ll bring more just to be sure.”

“If this is happening, find out what they want us to bring, yeah?” _Us_. Frank said it and realized: they were an _us_ now. Wasn’t something he ever would have expected to happen, but it felt okay.

“Bring?” Red echoed, his mouth just inches from Frank’s.

Frank couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. That’s what you do.”

Red shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I’ll find out.”

After that, they didn’t talk for a while. Frank had finally convinced Red that there were times when words were overrated.

* * *

Foggy got home a little early and started dinner. He didn’t cook a lot, but there was a chicken dish that Marci liked. He considered turning on some music but thought that might be overkill.

He’d timed it well; when Marci walked in the door, the chicken had just a few more minutes to cook.

“That smells great,” Marci said as she tucked her purse on the counter and hung up her jacket. “I did not want to figure out food tonight. What a nice surprise.” She eyed Foggy then, her lips curving, her brows lifting. “What did you do?”

Shit, did he look that guilty? Good thing he hadn’t turned on the music. “Me? Do? I… made dinner for the most beautiful woman I know.” He lifted the wine bottle in invitation, then poured when Marci nodded.

“Oh, you _definitely_ did something,” Marci replied, laughing as she took the glass. Still, she didn’t look troubled, which was good. “Did you spill coffee on my clothes again?”

“That was one time!” But a memorable time, Foggy had to admit. “Can’t a guy do something just to be nice?”

Marci made her way over to the couch and sat. She took a sip of wine and looked over at Foggy. “I suppose it’s possible.” Her tone added, _But…_

Foggy turned the heat on the chicken way down, then moved to sit next to Marci. “I asked Matt to come for Thanksgiving.”

That got him a puzzled look. “I thought that was a given.”

Foggy took a deep breath. “And he’d like to bring someone.”

Marci smiled, looking truly delighted, and Foggy felt a surge of love for her. “That’s great! I’m so glad that he’s found somebody. Whoever they are, they’re welcome to come.”

Foggy hesitated. Technically that was a blanket agreement, but he knew that accepting it would be a truly awful choice on his part. “Uh, you may want to find out who he is before you agree to that.”

“He?” Marci’s brows lifted, but she shrugged. “Didn’t know that about Matt. Oh!” She set her wine down and leaned closer to Foggy, eyes alight with curiosity. “So is it true?”

Foggy couldn’t really come up with a response to that. “Is what true?”

“The rumors about you and Matt, back when we were at Columbia.”

Foggy tried not to look startled, but really? “Rumors? That we…” Marci nodded, her expression expectant, and Foggy said, “Uh, no. Just good friends.”

“Aw. You two would have been cute together. Pearl was sure you were going to end up a couple.”

“Pearl thought what?” Foggy asked, nonplussed. He hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. “Huh. Well, sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed, though Pearl will be. It worked out great for me, though.” Marci leaned in close to kiss Foggy, then asked, “Who is he? Do I know him?”

Foggy eased back just a little, the better to watch Marci’s face as he said, “Not personally, but you know _of_ him. I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it to yourself.”

Looking intrigued, Marci said, “Okay. Who is he?”

Foggy took a breath. “Frank Castle.”

Marci pursed her lips. “I’m guessing there aren’t two guys with that name. Or, well, there probably are, but you mean the one I’ve heard of.”

“Yeah.”

“The Punisher.”

“Yeah.”

“Here in New York, not in jail somewhere?”

“That’s right.”

Marci picked up her wine glass once more and drained about half of its contents. She didn’t say anything, and Foggy shifted uneasily on the couch.

“I’m assuming he wouldn’t bring guns to Thanksgiving?”

“I…” Foggy paused. “Probably not?” Who even knew what Frank Castle would bring to Thanksgiving? “I’ll ask Matt to ask him to leave them at home.”

“Thanks.”

“Uh, does that mean you’re okay with Frank Castle coming to our place for Thanksgiving?”

Marci took another moment to consider her answer, then nodded. “Yes.”

Foggy wasn’t entirely sure _he_ was okay with Frank Castle coming for Thanksgiving, but he nodded. “Great. I’ll tell Matt. You’re, uh, taking this really well.”

“I guess it kind of makes sense.”

“Matt dating - if that’s the word - Frank Castle makes _sense_?” Foggy couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“Well, who else would Daredevil date?” Marci asked, her tone matter-of-fact. She continued as Foggy stared at her, his mouth dropping in shock. “Spider-Man is way too young, and Matt wouldn’t really be into a lot of the Avengers types, don’t you think?”

“Uh,” Foggy managed. “Maybe Black Widow?”

“Well, of course, Foggy Bear. Who wouldn’t be into Black Widow? But she’s a little out of his league.” She tipped her head at him, her expression going concerned. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that Matt’s Daredevil.”

“Uh, no. I mean, yeah. I knew. But I didn’t know _you_ knew.” He gaped a moment longer. “You _know_?”

Marci got to her feet, then leaned down to kiss Foggy’s cheek. “I figured it out a while ago,” she said airily. She moved to top off her wine glass and then to pour some for Foggy.

“But how?”

Marci handed him the wine. “Isn’t it obvious, if you know where to look? I’m a little curious about the origin story, though. Is he really blind?”

Foggy took the glass, then got up to flip the chicken, which was starting to get that smell that meant _done and soon to be burned_. “Uh, yeah. But he’s got, uh, heightened senses.” He looked over at Marci, who was regarding him like the cat who’d eaten the canary. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“And you’ve known for…”

“A while now.” Marci got out the plates, adding, “It’s okay. Matt does a lot of good for Hell’s Kitchen. I’m not going to ruin that.”

“Thanks. I just… did you think I knew?”

“I wasn’t sure.” Marci leaned in close, resting a hand on Foggy’s arm. “I’m glad you did, though. I’d hate to have been the one to break that to you.”

Foggy nodded, remembering that awful time, the way his anger and helplessness had twisted part of him in a way that he was pretty sure still hadn’t recovered, and then his utter certainty that being Daredevil was going to kill his best friend and there was nothing he could do about it. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, too.”

Marci gently eased him away from the stove and started to portion out the chicken.

Foggy watched her for a moment, then leaned in to wrap an arm around her. “You’re incredible.”

Marci smiled at him. “I know.”

* * *

The next day, between filing documents and client meetings and general schedule woes, Matt and Foggy didn’t manage to be in the office at the same time until the end of the workday. Foggy hadn’t wanted to text Matt about his conversation with Marci, having horrors of Matt’s text reading thing announcing, _Marci knows that you’re Daredevil_ in the middle of the courthouse.

So when Matt had returned and Foggy had locked the door, Foggy went into Matt’s office.

“How’d that meeting go?” Matt asked, though he was fidgety, one knee bouncing.

Oh, he was nervous. How cute. Foggy debated: be the better person, or torture his partner?

It really wasn’t a choice.

“Good, really good,” Foggy replied, his voice bright. Not a care in the world, no siree. “Should be open and shut. We’ll just be there to make things official. Oh, and Karen found those records, the ones you were looking for.”

“Good, great.” Matt’s knee stopped bouncing, though it looked like he had stilled the motion with some effort. “I’ll check them out tomorrow morning, see if they’re helpful.”

“Sounds good. Let Karen know? She was wondering.”

“Yeah, sure.” Matt got to his feet and waited for a minute, then gestured in the general direction of the door. “I guess I’ll…”

He kept his words trail off, looking so forlorn that Foggy felt like an asshole. “Marci said yes.”

Matt’s expression perked up and Foggy felt even worse for those moments of torment. Guilty, even, and he wasn’t even Catholic.

“Marci’s okay with everything? Great. What should we bring?”

“Not guns.” The words escaped Foggy before he’d entirely thought out their impact.

Matt’s eyebrows lifted. “Huh. Is that one of those Thanksgiving traditions where Marci is from, and you guys have firearms covered already?” He sounded amused, at least, rather than pissed off.

“No, of course not. It’s just Frank…” Well, at least Foggy didn’t trip over his name, even though he couldn’t figure out a good ending to the sentence.

Matt could. “… is the Punisher, yeah. And the fact that he kills people… well.” It bothered Matt, obviously. “But you know he doesn’t just kill people at random, right, Fogs? You and Marci are safe around him.”

“Yeah, no, I didn’t think we weren’t safe.” He didn’t, not really, but he still remembered all those pictures of people Frank had killed. " I just… you know what, forget I said anything, okay?" Matt nodded, but Foggy knew he wouldn’t forget. “Marci actually thought it made sense that you were, uh, together.”

“Huh.”

“Because she knows you’re Daredevil.”

“She what? Did you tell her?”

“No, Matty, I swear. She just… figured it out, I guess. I always did like the smart ones.” Foggy figured this wasn’t the time to mention those rumors about him and Matt back at Columbia, but, well, Matt wasn’t the only one with a type.

Matt nodded, clearly turning this information over in his head.

“She hasn’t told anybody,” Foggy added. “Said she’d known a while.”

“Good. Okay. Yeah.”

Foggy decided that a change in topic was in order. “As for what you can bring, we’ve got the basics. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, all that. If you want, bring a vegetable, maybe?”

“You eat vegetables?” Matt deadpanned.

“On occasion, preferably drowning in cheese or butter.”

“Unhealthy vegetable dish, got it. I can figure that out.”

“Or you could just bring alcohol.”

That got him a smile. “Alcohol is a given.”

“Then we’re golden.”

Matt gestured toward the door once more. “I do have to get going, though. Maggie wants me to swing by, and then I’m going to meet up with Frank.”

“Maggie, huh?” Foggy blurted, “Want to ask her to come, too?”

Foggy watched Matt mull over the idea, his face becoming more and more amused. “So you think we should have, at Thanksgiving, you, Marci, me, my -” Foggy marveled at the fact that he could basically see Matt’s brain spin in place as he tried to come up with a term for Frank. “- Frank. And my mother, the nun?”

“Too much?”

“Just a bit, maybe. But I appreciate the offer.”

Foggy watched Matt stroll out of the office, taking note of the bounce in his step. Maybe the nun would have counterbalanced the Punisher? But if Matt said no, so be it. He got his stuff together and was just about ready to leave when the phone rang.

“Nelson and Murdock,” he answered.

“Is Matt there?”

Foggy didn’t recognize the voice. “No, but I can take a message. Hold on.” He rummaged for a scrap of paper so he’d remember to tell Matt, but before he could find a pen the call disconnected.

Foggy hung up the phone. “Guess they’ll call back.”

He headed for home, promptly forgetting about the phone call.

* * *

“I just don’t know what to bring,” Red said as he and Frank walked back to Red’s place two days before Thanksgiving. “Foggy said a vegetable.”

“Nelson eats vegetables?”

“Ha, that’s what I said. Apparently so, but nothing too healthy.”

“Brussels sprouts are out, I guess.” Which was kind of a shame; Frank liked brussels sprouts, but figured that would be too much for Nelson to handle.

“Yeah, probably. But maybe… I don’t know.”

“Wait,” Frank said as he realized it. “Were you thinking about cooking something? You?”

“Why not me?” Red bristled a little, and Frank tried not to find it cute. It was _unsettling_ , finding these things cute that before probably would have been annoying at best.

“Maybe because I’ve never seen you cook anything more challenging than a bowl of cereal.” Red made an exasperated sound and Frank added, “Hey, I’m not judging. Just calling it like I see it.”

Red sighed, and his shoulders slumped a little. “It’s just… everything that happened when I was a kid, and then growing up in an orphanage… not that I’m making excuses.”

“Hey, I get it. It’s not like we’re born knowing how to cook. I didn’t really figure it out until after Maria and I got together.”

Red came to a halt. “Wait, you can cook?”

“Yeah. When Maria was pregnant, y’know, she got tired. It was something I could do to help out. Nothing too fancy,” he added, seeing that Red still looked surprised. “But I can get by.”

“Huh.” Red started walking once more, and Frank fell in step with him. “What do you think we should bring? Realistically, if we leave it to me, it’s going to be something from a store.”

“Nothing wrong with something from a store, but -” Frank hesitated, though not for long; of course Red probably heard it, or his heart did something weird. But cooking something felt like another big step, even though it was only a stupid vegetable dish. Annoyed with himself, he just said it. “I can come up with something. What time do we have to be there on Thursday?”

“Foggy said one, but I think we’re eating a little later than that.”

“Time to sit around before the big event, sure. That’ll give us time to make something Thursday.”

“Sounds good - wait, us?”

Frank shook his head. It wasn’t like he was going to let Red just sit there while he cooked. “Oh, you’re helping.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. I know you’re good with your hands. I’ve got something in mind you can do with them.”

Red grinned up at him as they reached his building. “We’re not talking about the food anymore, are we?”

Frank just smiled and let Red lead the way upstairs. After all, he was right: Red _was_ good with his hands.

* * *

Frank stayed over the night before Thanksgiving. It wasn’t something he’d done before, but Red figured it would simplify things. And, well, Frank didn’t object. For one, Red’s place was nicer than his. He also thought it might be a good change of pace to wake up with someone in the bed with him. He hadn’t done that in… well, a while. So on Wednesday evening he came by with his bag of groceries and some takeout from the Indian place he knew Red liked, and they ate and chatted and it was… comfortable.

Frank wasn’t sure he’d expected that, as Red often wasn’t particularly comfortable, but he’d had a good day in court and seemed to be feeling relaxed. Frank ate and let Red talk, and then wondered if all the talking was because Red was nervous.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent time in Red’s bed, after all, but very little of that time had involved sleep. Did Red snore? Was he wondering if Frank snored? Maria hadn’t ever complained, and he sure would have heard about it from his fellow Marines.

Well, Red sure wasn’t going to bring it up, so Frank figured he might as well. “I don’t snore,” he said, as Red took a breath in the middle of a sentence about torts or some shit.

That seemed to throw Red. “What?”

“I don’t snore and my feet aren’t cold. I do steal the covers sometimes, but I have been informed that I will let go if you give me an elbow to the ribs. You can probably hit harder than Maria did, but I’m sure her elbows were pointier.”

Red tipped his head a little, his lips curving. “Probably?”

Frank grinned. “Yeah, well. She was motivated. She really hated it when I stole the covers.” It occurred to Frank that his wife - for, really, that was how he still thought of her - probably wasn’t the best conversational topic on that particular day, but Red didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, I don’t. Steal covers, I mean. But I, uh, move around. So if I throw an elbow, it’s unintentional.”

“Unless I steal your covers.”

“Well, yeah. That’s justifiable use of force.”

Amused, Frank shook his head as he started to gather up the dishes. “Okay, do you have a side? Of the bed,” he clarified when Red looked confused.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Right side.” Red got up as well and grabbed a dishtowel.

Frank washed and Red dried and that was comfortable, too. As Frank sat on the couch, reading a book while Red worked, he realized that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It wasn’t that it was _too_ comfortable; Frank enjoyed having a little peace for a change. It just felt like he should be doing something, or that something was going to happen to break the peace. He set aside his book and got to his feet, moving around the apartment. The kitchen was clean and ready for the next day’s cooking; the doors were locked and the windows secure.

Red stopped working, his head tipped slightly as if he was listening.

“Hear something?” Frank asked. There it was. Something was going to happen.

Red nodded. “Card game two floors down just got loud. The DeNunzios are arguing about stuffing. That sort of thing.” He got to his feet and came over to Frank. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah?”

Red nodded once more and ran a hand along Frank’s back. “Tense,” he commented. “Really, we don’t have to go tomorrow. It’s not that big a deal.”

Frank tried not to lean into Red’s touch but wasn’t sure he managed it. “I may not have super senses like you do, but I don’t need to hear your heartbeat to know that you’re lying.” Red’s hand stilled on his back, and Frank added, “Look, if you don’t want to go, stay home, but I’m eating some turkey tomorrow.”

Maybe it was the thought of Frank at Nelson’s house without him, but Red smiled, his hand rubbing along Frank’s spine once more. “Nah, I think I’ll come, too.”

“Good.” Frank shifted, the better to position his back so that Red’s hand would hit just the right spot, and Red chuckled and rubbed harder. “So the super senses… you hear everything?” He thought about times when such abilities would be really handy and others when they absolutely would not.

“Yeah,” Red agreed, digging into a particularly tight knot with the heel of his hand. Frank tried not to groan. “Let’s just say I know more about my neighbors than I’m particularly comfortable with.”

“Ha.” Frank braced himself as Red attacked another knot, then looked over when Red stopped. He didn’t ask why, but something about his heartbeat or something must have told Red, as he smiled.

Red turned and tipped his head toward the bedroom in an obvious invitation. “There are easier places to do that.”

“Yeah? I think you might be right.”

Red grabbed Frank’s hand and pulled him into the bedroom.

He didn’t have to pull very hard.

* * *

The next morning, Frank eased his way to consciousness. He was warm and comfortable and relaxed, and the thought of getting out of bed made him want to pull the pillow over his head.

It took him a moment to realize that the reason he was so warm was that Red had sprawled over him at some point during the night.

Damn, maybe they called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen because of how hot he was - true on multiple levels. Frank wasn’t uncomfortable, though… well, no, maybe he’d lost feeling in his arm.

Red, his head pillowed on Frank’s chest, his leg thrown over Frank, resembled nothing so much as an octopus.

And Frank had to pee.

But then Red made a small sound of contentment and Frank thought, _Shit_. He could try to get out from under octo-Red, but probably wouldn’t manage without waking him, and they had been up late the night before.

Well. That had been Red’s fault. And it had been nice, not having to get up to go back to his place afterward. Frank knew he shouldn’t get used to it, though. He shifted, trying to increase the blood flow to his arm, and Red exhaled a sigh and then made a noise that was almost a word.

Frank stopped moving.

“Morning,” Red mumbled. He went still for a moment and Frank imagined him realizing just what he was using as a pillow. “Huh.”

“Good news is, you didn’t elbow me.”

“Good. Uh.” Red stretched and then eased away from Frank, maybe trying to be casual about it. “You didn’t steal the covers.”

Frank considered teasing him by saying, _Well, I had another heat source. Didn’t realize you were a cuddler_ , but then reconsidered. Red might not take it well, and Frank? Well, it was a good way to wake up, even though he couldn’t feel his fingers.

So he just said, "Good." He thought about kissing Red - that was a thing to do when you woke up with someone, right? But there was morning breath to consider, and Maria had always teased him about that. He realized that he’d waited too long – shit, now it was weird; he hauled himself to his feet, made his way into the bathroom, and did what needed to be done.

Later, after a quick breakfast, Frank got out his groceries and started prepping while Red was in the shower. He told himself again that they were just vegetables, nothing meaningful about them. But was it too soon for Holiday Meals?

It had been different with Maria. He couldn’t have done anything but fall for her; she’d kicked his feet out from under him the first time she’d smiled at him, and he’d wanted to be wherever she was. With Red, well. At first, he’d thought Red was a sanctimonious asshole. But over time, he’d gotten to tolerate Red, like him even, maybe more. It just felt a little like he and Red were skipping a step, missing some relationship rule about when one did Holiday Meals, and Frank liked to do things in order. Maybe it was the Marine in him. Not that he followed rules all the time, obviously, but still.

And Red didn’t seem to care about relationship rules. Maybe Frank was overthinking things. It was just a vegetable dish and dinner with Nelson and his girlfriend. So what if it was Thanksgiving?

“What are we making?” Red asked as he came out of the bathroom, and Frank thought, _Too late to back out now_. “Salad, salad is easy.”

“Nelson eats salad?”

“Probably not.”

“Don’t worry, Red. This is something even my kids ate. If Nelson is pickier than Frank Junior, we have bigger problems.”

Red nodded, apparently conceding the point, then moved to stand next to Frank. “What do you want me to do?”

Frank got the colander of broccoli out of the sink and said, “Chop this. Not too little. I’ll get the sauce started.”

Red pulled a knife out of its block, grabbed a cutting board, and got to work. “Is the sauce cheese? Foggy specifically mentioned cheese.”

“It is cheese.”

They worked their way through the recipe, and Red was very hands-on. Frank made the sauce; Red cut the broccoli and pulverized the little round crackers into crumbs.

Frank was pretty sure that wasn’t an intended use of Red’s batons, but, hey, it got the job done. Seemed like it helped Red relieve some stress, too, as he was grinning by the time he was done. Or maybe that was from all the hands-on parts. Red had taken every opportunity to brush against Frank. Not that he minded.

And Frank could fix that counter. Just a little ding, no problem. It was worth it to see Red cut loose a little. Fortunately, he hadn’t gotten cracker crumbs everywhere.

“Here, sprinkle them… yeah, right in there, that’s the dish. I put extra cheese in, so Nelson’ll be sure to like it. Then we cook it, and we can reheat it when we get there.”

“Great. Thanks, Frank. Beats something from a store.” Frank slid the dish into the oven and then started to clean up. Red, running a hand along the countertop, felt the ding and shook his head. “Thought that didn’t sound right.”

“I can fix it. No big deal.” Red’s hand still lingered on the ding, and Frank asked, “You ever train? Fight, y’know, without the other guy actually trying to hurt you?”

Red shook his head. “It’s not really possible. People know me here. If they saw me fighting…”

“Eh, nobody has to see. We could try it sometime. I’ll go easy on you.”

Red laughed, and one of those cocky smiles lit his face. “Oh, you really think that’s a good idea?” He bumped Frank away from the sink and back against a wall.

“I can take you,” Frank replied, all confidence.

Red’s grin then had nothing to do with fighting. “Well, that’s clearly been established, but I was talking about sparring.”

“Ha. Well, if I find a place, will you do it?” He sighed as Red grinned even wider.

“Maybe,” Red replied, though he didn’t seem too focused on the question. He leaned in close, his hand resting on Frank’s abdomen, his intentions clear. “We could. Do it.”

“ _Spar_ ,” Frank clarified, his eyeroll obvious in his voice. “You’ve got a filthy mind, Red, and as much as I’d love to take advantage of that, we need to leave once the food’s done if we want to get to Nelson’s on time.”

“Well, how long does it take to cook?” Red asked, as if it was a perfectly reasonable question.

“Not long enough,” Frank replied. “I want to get a shower.” Red looked all set to follow him to the bathroom, but Frank shook his head. “You got a shower this morning. Plus, I’ve heard too many stories about shower sex injuries, and I don’t want _that_ to be why we don’t get to Nelson’s.”

“He’d never let me hear the end of it,” Red agreed, though not without a sigh.

And if the water temperature of Frank’s shower was a little colder than usual, it was worth it. Red wanted him, and that felt… nice. He didn’t examine that emotion too much, just concentrated on his shower and then on getting a good, close shave.

It wasn’t that he was trying to impress Nelson and his lawyer girlfriend. Definitely not.

He pulled on his clothes and went out to the living room where Red, already dressed, was waiting on the couch. “You smell great.”

“It’s your shower gel,” Frank replied.

“Haven’t smelled it on you,” Red replied, with a smile that made Frank wonder if the shower gel smelled differently on him. Getting to his feet, Red made his way over to Frank. “What are you wearing?”

“Jeans. And a sweater. Uh, black. Buttons at the neck.”

“Soft?”

Frank couldn’t help but laugh. “Come find out.”

Red needed no further invitation but ran his hands along Frank’s abdomen, then along his sides and around his back. “Like the jeans,” he approved, as his hands roamed lower.

Well. Since Red was conveniently there, Frank drew him closer and kissed him, and Red’s hands lifted to Frank’s cheeks, running lightly along them. “Smooth,” he murmured against Frank’s mouth, and Frank seriously considered being late to Nelson’s, especially as Red’s hands started roaming once more.

But then Frank realized just where Red’s hands were going and he pulled away, cold settling in the pit of his stomach. “You frisking me?”

And, fuck, Red looked guilty, which was answer enough. “Frank…”

“What, you think I keep a gun in the john?”

“No, of course not, but…” He didn’t finish. Red, who wouldn’t shut up most days, seemed to be at a loss for words.

“But what?”

“Foggy.”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t want you to bring a gun.”

“To Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yeah.”

Frank took a few steps back, then circled around to the kitchen, getting some distance. “He doesn’t want me to bring a gun to Thanksgiving dinner. And your solution to this is to frisk me?”

“Hey, any excuse to get my hands all over you.”

Frank looked over and Red was grinning, but he looked like he was trying to land a joke that he knew wasn’t funny.

“Red, for someone who talks as much as you do, you suck at communicating.” Frank leaned against the back of the couch and sighed. That was one thing he and Maria had gotten right, at least most of the time: they talked to each other about most things. He hadn’t been able to tell her how disconnected he’d felt and, well. Look where that had gotten him.

Red kept quiet for once; at least he wasn’t saying that he was a _great_ communicator, and he looked like he was thinking about Frank’s words. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Frank let him stew for a few seconds, then said, “It’s okay. You just gotta talk to me, that’s all. It’s Nelson’s house. He’s got a right to say what goes on in it. And it’s not like I always have to have a gun.”

Red didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows lifted over the top of his glasses.

“I don’t,” Frank repeated.

“Okay.”

“I don’t need a gun.”

Red nodded, looking like he was trying to keep his mouth in a straight line, but the smile still got to his eyes. “I believe you.”

Frank exhaled a short burst of air, then asked, “You ready? The food’s about done.”

In fact, the oven beeped as Frank spoke, and he slid the dish onto the stovetop to cool.

“Yeah,” Red replied. “Oh - can’t forget this.” He took up the bottle that they’ve picked up at the liquor store the previous night. “Um, for the pan you used, there’s an insulated thing in the cabinet. For travel.”

With a little looking, Frank found the carrier and slid the pan into it. “Okay, then.”

“Okay,” Red echoed. “Can you - yeah.”

Frank took up the bottle that Red offered, carefully balancing it with the carrier. Red, cane in hand, held the door for him and then they made their way outside. Before they walked too far, Red slipped his hand in the crook of Frank’s arm.

“What’s Nelson’s girlfriend like?”

“Marci? Really smart. Knows what she wants and won’t let anything stop her.”

“So Nelson does whatever she wants?”

Red nodded, laughing. “Absolutely.”

“Figured she was smart, though, if she guessed that you’re… you know.”

“Yeah, that surprised me. Makes me wonder who else has figured it out and just not told me.” His hand tightened on Frank’s arm and he asked, “When did you figure it out?”

“When I was on the stand.”

Red looked over to Frank, his lips curving. “Seriously?”

“It’s your voice. You called me Frank, and I remembered that from the roof.” He shook his head, amused. “You talked a _lot_.”

“And you never… you could have mentioned it to somebody when you were in jail.”

Frank came to a halt and Red stopped as well. “No. I couldn’t have.” Red exhaled a soft _huh_ and Frank added, “You were - are - doing something about the filth in this city, even though you don’t go far enough. Didn’t want to do anything to stop that.”

Red got that cocky grin again. “Maybe you liked me?”

“Nah.” But Frank was smiling, and he was pretty sure that came across in his voice. He started walking once more. “I didn’t. But I came around.”

“ _Yeah_ , you did.” And didn’t Red sound smug? Frank managed not to laugh at him; Red might not appreciate that Frank thought he was being cute - cute, there it was again. But that exchange made them end up outside Nelson’s door in good humor.

Frank could smell the turkey even through the door and that, at least, was probably going to be good. Red knocked and Nelson opened the door, all hearty greetings.

“Oh, alcohol,” Nelson approved, taking the bottle away from Frank. “And…”

“Vegetables that you will eat,” Red replied, looking amused by Nelson’s wry face. Still, Nelson took the carrier into the kitchen.

Marci, the girlfriend, gave Frank a quick, assessing look before offering her hand. Frank figured she was one to watch. Nelson was wary around him, though he’d never admit it, but Marci? She didn’t look scared. “I’ve been trying to convince Foggy Bear that green foods can be good, but I’m not sure he believes me.”

Wait, what? Frank couldn’t help but grin. “Foggy… Bear?”

Nelson groaned as he came back from the kitchen. “Marci, love of my life, why would you share something like that nickname?”

“Don’t you like your nickname?”

Oh yeah. She was definitely one to watch.

“No, no, I do,” Nelson was quick to reply. “I just…” His gaze flicked to Frank and he asked, “Who wants a drink?”

Everyone did, and the subject changed to the details of the meal, but Frank filed the nickname away for the future. _Foggy Bear_.

Before long, they were all seated around the table, and Frank was surprised the thing didn’t collapse under the weight of all the food. “There are just four of us, right?”

“Well, yeah, but we have to have leftovers,” Nelson explained. “And to send leftovers home with you and Matty, and Karen threatened grievous bodily harm if I didn’t save her some. I guess her aunt’s an awful cook. And, well. The holiday’s about gluttony, right?”

Well, no. Not for Frank. Not so much when he was a kid, but after he’d gotten together with Maria, and especially after Lisa and then Frankie came along, Thanksgiving had been about family. It had meant those ridiculous paper turkeys made of cutouts of the kids’ hands - damn, what he wouldn’t give to have them now - and gratitude for what they had, and everybody working together in the kitchen to make a meal and then eating that meal together. As a family.

He must have been quiet for too long. Marci cleared her throat and asked, “Matt, would you like to say grace?” Foggy gave her a puzzled look and Red did that head-tilt thing, and she added, “Because it’s Thanksgiving, maybe we should try to be thankful, huh?”

“Good point.” Red folded his hands and bowed his head, and Frank did the same, though he wondered if Red had closed his eyes. Nobody could tell, after all; not with the sunglasses. Red cleared his throat. “Dear Lord. Today we give thanks for our many blessings as we pray for those in need. We give thanks for our family and friends as we pray for those who are lonely. We give thanks for our freedoms as we pray for those who are oppressed. We give thanks for our good health as we pray for those who are ill. We give thanks for our comfort and prosperity as we share our blessings with others. On this day of Thanksgiving, may the love of God enfold us, the peace of God dwell within us, and the joy of God uplift us. Amen.”

Everybody else mumbled their amens, and Nelson said, as he started passing around the potatoes, “That was great, buddy! Did you just make that up?”

Red hesitated just long enough for Frank to decide to reply. “Saint Vincent did.”

“You _cheated_?” Nelson chided.

“And on Thanksgiving,” Marci added, sounding amused.

“Hey, I memorized it! I had it all ready to go, and that was a lot! How was that cheating?”

“You plan that, Red?” Frank asked, his voice soft.

Looking a little embarrassed, Red replied, “Just wanted to be prepared, that’s all.”

“Well, I thought it was a nice sentiment,” Marci said. “Frank, could you pass the gravy?”

Frank did. He thought about his words before he spoke. This meal, this holiday thing, it still felt a little weird. He still appreciated that he was included, though. Despite the odd looks Nelson kept sending him when he thought Frank wasn’t looking, this beat eating a Swanson dinner alone at home. “I thought it was a nice sentiment, too, yeah. And I wanted to thank the two of you for having me here. It’s been, y’know, a while since I’ve sat around a table like this.” Red was listening and nodding a little; yeah, he got it. He knew what it was like not to have people. But then Frank realized that Marci and Nelson were watching him, Nelson with kind of a deer-in-the-headlights look, Marci just smiling. He cleared his throat. “So, yeah. Thanks.”

Marci leaned over to pat his arm. “Well, you’re welcome. We’re glad you’re here.”

Nelson looked a little dubious but nodded anyway. “Hey, anybody who makes Matt as happy as he’s been…”

Frank noted that Nelson didn’t finish the sentence, and managed not to shake his head. He’d take it. He didn’t need Nelson to be his friend. Red liked him, and that was what mattered.

“Foggy, you need to try the broccoli thing,” Red urged. “It’s good. There’s cheese and little cracker crumbs.”

“Yeah, Foggy Bear,” Marci added. “You can be the first to try it.”

Frank did _not_ smile, didn’t even look at Nelson, but he heard him take some of the broccoli.

“It’s good,” Nelson announced.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Fogs. And hey, this shows you have the palate of a kid. Good for you.” Marci made a noise of inquiry as she took some of the broccoli, and Red added, “Frank made this because his kids liked it.”

“You made this?” Nelson asked, sounding surprised. Frank was sorely tempted to hint that he’d flavored it with arsenic, just to see the look on Nelson’s face.

“Red helped. He chopped the broccoli and crushed the crackers.”

“That part was fun.”

Now Frank did smile. “Yeah, it was.” He didn’t mention the countertop. No need.

The rest of the meal went well, better than Frank had anticipated. The food was good, and whenever the talk strayed to legal stuff, Frank just took more stuffing and listened. It was interesting seeing Red talk legal things without them pertaining to Frank. Marci kept tabs on the conversation, though, and always steered it away from work before Frank finished the stuffing on his plate.

The third time that happened, Frank smiled at her. She smiled back.

Finally, they had eaten all they were going to eat and sat around a little to digest. There was still plenty of food.

“Guess I’m bringing turkey dinner for lunch for the next two weeks,” Nelson said, though he didn’t sound upset by the prospect.

Marci stood up and started to clear, and Frank got up to help her. When Nelson got up as well, Frank said, “I got it.” Seeing Nelson look like he wanted to protest, he added, deadpan, “Foggy Bear.”

Nelson sat down, and Frank could hear Marci laughing as she went into the kitchen. As he followed her, dishes in hand, she said, “He’s never going to forgive me for that.”

“Ah, he’ll get over it,” Frank replied. “But you know I’m never going to forget it.” He and Marci both made a few trips to bring in the dishes, and then Frank got to washing what he figured was somebody’s grandma’s nice plates while Marci organized the leftovers.

“You’re taking some of this, right? Please?”

“Wouldn’t say no, and it would be good for Red to eat something that wasn’t takeout.”

“Good. Thank you.” Marci was quiet for a few minutes as she portioned out stuffing and potatoes and the like, and then she asked, her voice careful but still curious, “You want one big set of leftovers or two little ones?”

Well, that was a polite way of asking if he and Red were living together. Couple days earlier, he definitely would have said _two_. He enjoyed spending time with Red, but were they in a place to live together? It seemed like a big step. But staying the night, that had been good, had felt right. The question was whether Red felt the same, whether he’d like Frank to stay over again, more regularly.

“Uh, two, I guess. Thanks.” He didn’t want to make assumptions about what Red wanted.

“Got it.” Marci didn’t push, though she did seem a little disappointed. “Foggy said that Matt has been really happy lately, and he thinks you’re why.”

“Huh.”

“And if that’s true, that’s great. But just so you know, if you hurt Matt, it won’t go well for you.”

Frank looked over, not entirely sure that he’d heard those words coming out of the mouth of that small, blonde woman. “Excuse me?”

She didn’t look even a little bit scared. “I think you heard me,” she replied, her voice even. “I’m not saying that Foggy or I will try to beat you up because we both know that’s not going to happen, but there are other ways of making your life unpleasant. Got it?”

Frank considered her words, then nodded. If he hurt Red, he would probably deserve a little unpleasantness. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Marci smiled, looking deceptively perky. “Want cranberry sauce?”

“Uh, please.” He turned back to the dishes, feeling a little bit like he’d just stepped out of the way of an oncoming semi.

Marci hummed as she finished packing away the food.

* * *

Foggy peered after Frank and Marci with some concern. “Think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt replied, sliding his chair away from the table and stretching out a little. “I don’t think Marci will hurt him.”

Foggy couldn’t help but laugh at that. “This was good. Great food, and I even liked the broccoli thing, no lie.”

“I’ll tell your mom.”

“Aw, don’t do that, Matty. We don’t want her to have a heart attack so close to Christmas.” Foggy grinned as the idea struck him. “Get me the recipe and I’ll bring it to the Christmas party. She won’t know what hit her.”

“I’m sure Frank would give it to you,” Matt replied, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Foggy resisted the urge to call him an asshole; that was an established fact, and Foggy was trying to behave. Instead, he just nodded and said, “I’ll ask him. He was, uh, pleasant today.”

“He really is a good guy, Fogs.”

_For a convicted murderer, sure._

But Foggy didn’t say that, either. Matt was _happy_ and he didn’t want to mess that up. He really hoped Frank didn’t get arrested again, though. That would just be awkward.

Realizing that Matt was waiting for an answer, Foggy nodded. “I, yeah. I guess so. Marci seemed to like him.”

“Yeah.” Matt fidgeted with his drink, then said, “You don’t have to like him.”

“No, there’s a reason he’s not _my_ boyfriend.” Oh, Matt twitched a little at the b-word. Interesting. “Well, several actually, most important being that Marci would probably object. But the important thing is that you like him. Which you do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, good. That’s what matters.”

Matt tipped his head in that way that made Foggy wonder if he was using his Super Senses. “Really? For me, that’s what matters, of course. And, like I said, you don’t have to like it, and I appreciate that you asked him here, but Marci talked to him more than you did.” Before Foggy could protest - well, he wasn’t sure what, but he wanted to protest something - Matt said, “Just give him a chance, okay, Fogs?”

Well. What could Foggy say to that? Other than, _Well, the guy has killed a lot of people_ , which everybody knew. Or, _I’m worried about how you’ll be with him,_ which Foggy realized was more about Elektra than Frank. But when Matt got that puppy dog look, there wasn’t much Foggy could do. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Frank and Marci came back from the kitchen then, Frank with a pie in each hand, Marci with plates and forks.

“Hope you’re hungry again,” Marci announced, and Foggy made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“I always forget about the pie,” he said. “But I think I can manage a little slice. Maybe a big slice. Of each.”

“What kinds?” Matt asked. “Pumpkin and… something with sugar?”

“Pecan,” Frank replied. He took up the knife and Foggy was proud of himself that he didn’t flinch, didn’t even look at the knife.

Of course, Frank Castle wasn’t exactly known for killing people with knives.

Foggy bit back a sigh. He had just told Matt that he’d give Frank a chance; he smiled at Frank as he took his pie, getting a vaguely surprised look in response.

“I’ll take both, too,” said Matt, while Marci asked for pecan and Frank took pumpkin.

“Well, we haven’t even used half of these pies, so you’re definitely taking some home,” Marci said.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” said Frank.

Once he’d eaten about half of each of his pieces of pie, Matt shifted his chair closer to Frank’s and rested a hand on his arm. Frank smiled and covered Red’s hand with his own for a moment before finishing off his pie. When Matt leaned in to whisper in Frank’s ear, and Frank smiled again and spoke quietly in response, Foggy looked away.

They were cute together.

Damn it.

Foggy vowed to make more of an effort. Sure Frank Castle wasn’t a normal sort of guy, but it wasn’t like Matty was the poster boy for normalcy, himself. Maybe the two of them would be okay together.

And Matt was happy. Foggy was willing to put up with a lot for Matt to be happy. Even, he decided, Frank Castle. So when Matt and Frank got up to leave, leftovers in hand, Foggy made a point of shaking Frank’s hand.

“Thanks for coming. And I’d love to get the recipe for that broccoli thing.”

Frank smiled as he shook Foggy’s hand with just the right amount of pressure: no tight squeezing. “No problem. I’ll write it down, send it in to work with Red. And thanks for having me.” He smiled over to Marci as well, and the pair took their leave, Matt’s hand curled around Frank’s arm.

“I think it went well,” Marci said, once the door closed behind them.

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed. “It did.”

* * *

Frank slowed as they approached Matt’s building, not sure if he should go up, but then realized that he had Red’s leftovers. Red held the door for him, and that answered that.

After stashing the leftovers in the fridge, he turned back to Red. He’d set aside his cane and taken off his sunglasses, and was rubbing at his eyes.

“Want me to clear out? It’s been a long day.”

Matt lifted his head. “What? I thought…” He cut off his words, then, frowning a little.

“Talk to me, Red,” Frank prompted. “I know you know how.”

Red smiled a little. “I was hoping you might stay again tonight.”

Oh. Well. Frank stepped closer to Red. He looked younger without the glasses, deceptively innocent. “Yeah. I can do that. It’s late. Should we just go to bed?” Seeing Red’s smile widen, he added, “Thought you were tired.”

“I am,” Red agreed. “But it’ll be good to sleep with you. Was thinking about it all during dinner. Just sleeping.” He paused, then admitted, “Mostly.”

“Well, then, let’s get to bed.”

They fit actions to words, and before long Frank had stretched out next to Red. There was a space between him, and Frank said, “Probably going to end up over here before we wake up. Might as well start out the night that way.”

He felt Red’s laugh more than heard it, but soon enough Red was curled against his side. “This okay?”

“Wouldn’t have said so otherwise. Besides, that’ll keep me from stealing the covers.” With only minor contortion, he managed to kiss Red, then settled in for the night.

He never slept better.


End file.
